Dear Mama,
I am sorry that you’re now a member of this “babyloss club”. I’m sad that you’ve been referred to this website. I’m mournful that this page even exists!
I, too, have lost a baby. I know how much it hurts. I vividly remember coming home from the hospital with nothing in my arms save for her little hat. I felt so empty!
On Annie’s second birthday, I founded a charity (in name only -- I don’t have the patience to file the paperwork to formally make it a 503c) called “Bananas for Annie” that sews baby quilts for moms (because yes, you are absolutely a mother!) whose babies have died the way Annie did.
We feel that we did the kindest thing we could for our Annie by terminating the pregnancy with her. (If that vocabulary — “terminating” — offends you, substitute “aborting”, “laying her at peace”, or whichever word or words you prefer.) However, I know that some people disagree with our decision. This blanket is meant to remind you that I *know* that you didn’t come to your decision lightly. That you would have done *anything* for your child.
It took me a long while to realize that I could use standard words to describe Annie’s death: she was stillborn. When I describe her to acquaintances, that’s what I tell them. (If I tell you about my abortion, it’s either a sign that I trust you a lot *or* a sign that I desperately want you to shut up.)
We had picked out a primate theme for Annie’s nursery, hence the name “Bananas for Annie”, and all the quilt squares are made with monkey fabric -- except for one. Like the Native Americans, who traditionally include a thread of a mistaken color into their rugs because only God makes things perfectly, I include a dog square on these quilts. My stuffed gorilla, Jake, had a running feud with my puppies, and suggested that if I want to ruin a quilt, this was a pretty efficient way to do it!
That said, there’s an important warning in there: these quilts were crafted in the same RV that my Newfoundland Zamboni lived in. Though she had zero interest in my fabric and she’s been gone for six months now, I’m sure a stray hair found its way in there nonetheless. If you’re super allergic, I won’t be hurt if you pawn this blanket off on your nearest friend or drop it off at Goodwill.
Jake also inspired me to sew the quilts with yellow thread, because yellow is the color of bananas, the world’s tastiest fruit. “ILMO ALB” stands for “In Loving Memory of [Annie’s full name]” hopefully without being too depressing.
I wish I could close with my ‘recipe’ to heal the baby-shaped wound in your soul, but I don’t have one. Only time will help you feel better -- in the long scheme of things. My own grief journey has been much like Annie’s life: a rollercoaster. (We found out that she was unhealthy during her 20-week ultrasound, came back for an echocardiogram and an amniocentesis a week later, and then got a phone call with the preliminary results: she looked fine! Until a week later, when we got a phone call and were told she was probably anything BUT.) I would fluctuate between being able to hold it together through, say, a church service … and being a sobbing mess. I remember running out of a Gap because I couldn’t handle their maternity/baby section. I remember sitting on our bed, eating Goldfish, Pringles, and popcorn while watching the Food Network because I couldn’t bear to lose my pregnancy weight. I was a piece of work!
I’m not saying that you need to be a piece of work, too; I’m suggesting that you allow yourself to feel sad, in whatever way works for you. I hope this quilt helps.
I’m so sorry, Mama. You’ll be in my prayers. =(
Love,
Another loss mom